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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MORNING GLORIES 



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i 1887 



MORNING GLORIES 

A VOLUME OF FUGITIVE VERSE 



Made up of every creature s best. 

Various, that the ?nmd 
Of desultory man, studious of change, 
And pleased with novelty, may be indulged 



S3 




BROOKLYN, N. Y. 



CHARLES NJ^ ANDREWS 

1887^* ^ 



^ciy.:rv_&-Aj_ 



7^ ^13 



CoPyTight, 



PRESS OF C. N. ANDREWS. 



TO 

JAMES J. O'CONNELL, 

WHOSE TRUE FRIENDSHIP HAS EVER BEEN 

A SOURCE OF GRATIFICATION TO ME, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. 



CONTENTS. 




The Enchanted Isle, 

Fallen, 

Nature's Music, 

Between the Pages, 

Unsatisfied, . 

The Wages of Sin, 

To - Day, 

The Twin Misers, 

Mother, 

Unrest, 

After Death, 

Frost Flowers, . 

Down by the Sea, 

The Giver and the Gift, 

Sorrow, . . 

A Moment, . 

Disappointment, 

April, . . . 

A Thought, . 

The Bells, . 

Modest Worth, 

On Breaking a Clay Pipe, 



H. F. Donohoe, 
H. S. Barler, . 
H. E. Legler, . 

F. W. Lee, . . 

G. E. Day, . . 
J. J. O'Connell, 
Hel'n G. Roberts, 
B. P. Emery, 
E. A. Oldham, 
Ralph Metcalf, 
J. D. Miller, . 
Jesse French, 
Bertha York, 
J. L. Elderdice, 
E. A. Edkins, . 
Edith Callender, 
J. L. Elderdice, 
E. A. Oldham, . 
H. F. Donohoe, 
L. M. Bergen, . 
Feramorz, 

J. R. Gleason, . 



3 
4 
5 

7 
8 

9 

lO 

II 

12 

13 
14 

15 
20 
21 

22 

23 
24 

^ - 

26 

27 



CONTENTS. 



t, . 



My Rose, . . 

At Seventeen, 

Similitude, 

Spring-time, 

God's Temple, 

A Secret, . . 

Contentment, 

Fame,Wealth and Honor 

The New Year, 

The Betrothal, . 

May, .... 

December Tvviligh 

Life, .... 

Hope, .... 

The Maiden's Solil 

Remembrance, . 

Passing i\\vay, . 

An October Eve, 

Hyacinths, 

Forgotten, 

To a Flower, 

Life's Lesson, . 

A Fragment, 

Gtfstave Dore, . 

Eventide, . . . 

At Twilight, . . 

Maia, .... 



>quy 



Clara H. Tardy 

F. W. Lee, . 
W. R. Nichols, 
J. A. Fynes, .. 
Jennie M. Day, 
C. C. Heuman, 
J. S. Billet, . 
C. E. Stone, . 
J. C. Nicholls, 
T. W. 'Iresidder 
Feramurz, . 

G. E. Day, . , 



A. L. Tuhbs, 
W. R. Nichols, 
M. J. Bcndall, 
Ira R Rowley, 
J. B. Sherrill,, 
T. W. Tresidd'er 
Mercurious, . 
Bertha York, 
Geo. Hutcheson 
G E. Frye, . 
Libbie Adams, 

B. P. Emery, 
Clara H. Tardy, 54 
F. R. Batchelder, 55 
Libbie x\dams, . 56 



29 
30 
31 
32 
33 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 

39 
40 

41 
42 

43 
44 

45 
46 

47 
49 
50 
51 

52 
53 



CONTENTS. XI 

From Heine, . . . . C. C. Heuman, . 57 

The Two Guests, . . . G. E, Day, . . 58 

Lines, Will K. Graff, . 59 

Luna Capta, F. T. Brown, . 60 

Music, Geo. M. Huss, . 61 

Peace, G. A. Steverson, 6;^ 

Death, C. E. Stone, . . 64 

Naught but Prayer, . . H. E. Batsford, . 65 

A Fragment, . . . . M. H. Shelp, . 66 

Aftermath, J. J. O'Connell, 67 

Wind Voices, . . . . R. Wilkins, . . 68 

A Medley, MintaR. Stevens, 69 

A Picture, Hannah B. Gage, 71 

Sorrow, L. M. Bergen, . 72 

A Fragment, .... MintaR. Stevens, 73 

To Autumn, M. H. Shelp, . 74 

A Fragment, .... Joannah Brown, 75 

The Valley Bird, . . . H. S. Barler, . 76 

Pansies, Clara H. Tardy, 77 

Undercurrents, . . . . F. L. Seaver, . 79 

Dead, J. D. Miller, . . 80 

The Falls, S. A. Wood, . . 81 

A Reverie, J. R. Gleason, . 82 

Hyacinths, Albion, .... 83 

Innocence MaryA. Murtauh, 84 

'Mid the Roses, . . . A. L. Tubbs, . 85 



PREFACE. 



THE preface is an essential feature of all 
books of any pretension, but the preface 
that is chiefly devoted to offering excuses for 
the real or imaginary imperfections in the 
body of the book is one not calculated to win 
confidence, nor has it any weight with him 
who otherwise might have been an indulgent 
reader. It is not my intention to make the 
prefa,ce of this little volume the vehicle of any 
such useless apologies. 

Morning Glories is simply the outcome of 
a long cherished idea of mine to preserve, in 
convenient form, selections from the works of 
the authors represented in its pages, and to 
gratify my ambition for book publishing.. 
Some years ago I published a little paper 
pamphlet of a similar nature, and its reception 
was such that I have been encouraged to 
collect this bunch of Morning Glories. 

The verses selected have been previously 
published in the amateur press of this country, 
and as their authors are in most cases well 



XIV PREFACE. 

known to those among whom the book will 
circulate, any introduction is unnecessary. 

The entire work of production was done 
at night after the cessation of business duties, 
partly as a pleasing pastime and also for the 
reasons already given. 

Should this little volume of early morning 
blossoms merit its readers approbation, I shall 
feel that my efforts have not been wholly 
unsuccessful. 

Charles N. Andrews. 
Brooklyn^ January^ iSSy. 



THE ENCHANTED ISLE. 

TTj^AR in the ocean of the night 
-^ There lieth an enchanted Isle, 
Within a veil of mellow light, 
That blesseth like affection's smile. 

It tingeth with a rosy hue 
All objects in that country fair. 
Like summer twilight when the dew 
Is trembling in the fragrant air. 

And there is music evermore, 
That seemeth sleeping on the breeze. 
Like sounds of sweet bells from the shore 
Lingering along the summer seas. 

And there are rivers, bowers and groves. 
And fountains fringed with blossomed weeds, 
x\nd all sweet birds that sing their loves 
'Mid stately flowers or tasseled reeds. 

All that is beautiful of earth. 
All that is valued, all that's dear. 
All that is pure of mortal birth. 
Lives in immortal beauty here. 



2 MORNING GLORIES. 

All tender buds that ever grew 
For us on hopes ephemeral tree, 
All loves, all joys that e'er we knew, 
Bloom in that country gloriously. 

There is no parting there, no change, 
No death, no fading, no decay ; 
No hand is cold, no voice is strange, 
No eye is dark — or turned away. 

To us, who daily toil and weep. 
How welcome is night's starry smile, 
When in the fairy barge of sleep 
We A'isit the Enchanted Isle. 

All holy hearts that worship truth. 
Though dark their daily pathway seems. 
Find Treasure and immortal youth 
In that fair isle of happy dreams. 

But, if the soul have dwelt with sin. 
It landeth on that isle no more, 
Though it would give its life to win 
One glimpse but of the pleasant shore. 

There joys, which have been thrown away, 
Or stained with guilt, can bloom no more, 
And o'er the night their vessels stray 
Where pale shades weep, and surges roar. 



FALLEN. 



FALLEN. 

NO one knew him, no one cared, 
How he suffered, how he fared 
In the strife ; 
In the struggle to excel, 
How he faltered, how he fell, 
A ruined life. 

He had genius, he had skill. 

He had courage and a will ; 

He was young. 

But they pushed him from the rank, 

And his life remains a blank, 

All unsung. 

Now he lieth wrecked and shattered, 

All his hopes and fortunes scattered 

From the light. 

O, his life was done too soon. 

His bright sun gone down at noon, 

Into night. 



MORNING GLORIES. 



NATURE'S MUSIC. 

EVENING breezes, gently blowing 
Through the rustling leaves above, 
Seeming as they pass, to whisper 
Naught but innocence and love. 

Making music, low, pathetic, 
AVaking echoes in the heart, 
Bringing thoughts and recollections, 
Which a sad'ning charm impart. 

Silver cascades, bright and glist'ning 
In the sunset's roseate glow. 
Falling over precipices 
On the rocks which lie below\ 

Make a music, sweetly gentle, 
Which the pen of nature w^rote. 
Breathing love in every accent. 
Whispering love in every note. 



BETWEEN THE PAGES. 



BETWEEN THE PAGES. 

A pleasure perished lives in thought again. — Shurtleff. 

AH, precious bud, what memories 
Entrance my heart at sight of thee. 
Bright, sun - lit scenes, fair images, 
And hours of deep felicity, 
Return to cheer this hour of gloom, 
As thy sweet perfume fills the air; 
Recalling joy, when in thy bloom 
My love had worn thee in her hair. 

I see thee now, as thou wert then. 

Thy blushing petals half unclosed ; 

Reluctant to be seen of men, 

As they on raven tress reposed. 

And in thy heart a dewy gem, 

By sunbeams kissed, resplendent, pure, 

Fit jewel for Love's diadem, 

The ardent youthful heart to lure. 

Crushed art thou now, and like the heart 
That murmurs 'neath a weight of care. 
But in thy leaves thou hast an art 
By which thou makest all things fair. 



6 MORNING GLORIES. 

O'er thee for hours I sit and dream, 
Forgetting self, the worJd and pain. 
In happy thought, until I seem 
To live the old love o'er again. 

Oh, precious bud, with mem'ries laden. 
Dim phantoms of the long ago ; 
Oh, wayward youth and trusting maiden 
Who mourn the death of Love's bright glow. 
Through weary days I dream forever, 
And nurse the grief that time would kill. 
For Memory forsakes me never, 
And by -gone days are near me still. 



UNSATISFIED. 



UNSATISFIED. 

THE silent shadows of approaching night 
Grow dense and darker round my star- 
less way, 
While all the deeds of this departing day 
Rise to my mind like phantoms cold and white ; 
Some haunting deed I have not done aright, — 
Some work neglected for a moment's play; 
Or cruel words my lips were led to say 
Will not be gone but still their wrongs recite. 

The day is gone, — I cannot live it o'er; 
Lost moments come not back, — in vain I call 
To friend and foe to trust me as before,* , 
But on deaf ears my tearful pleadings fall. 
Yet let me hope ! to-morrow holds in store 
The time and power whereby I gain them all. 



MORNING GLORIES. 



THE WAGES OF SIN. 

I dreamt I wandered in a lonely wood, 
Where, as I moved along my devious way 
'Mong groves of sombre cypresses, thro' which 
Day's golden king nor night's pale queen 

could stray, 
I came upon a cavern at whose mouth 
A figure, draped in sable mantle, stood; 
Grief's dew was on her eyelids, and she seemed 
Sad as a young bride in her widowhood. 

And whilst I gazed in pity and in fear, 

In either hand a needle I beheld. 

With which a garment her deft fingers wove. 

As though by some strange destiny impell'd. 

"Tell me," I asked, "the burden of thy task?" 

"This is thy shroud," she answered, "at each 

sin 
One stitch I take, and at each noble deed 
Over again my labor I begin." 



•TO-DAY. 



TO-DAY. 

DREAM not of a fair to-morrow, 
Mourn not for the past; 
Let all the highest aims of life 
Within to-day be cast. 

Will clouds that heavy o'er thee hang 
Vanish with thy sighing? 
Will falling tear-drops serve to keep 
A golden hour from Hying? 

Earnest thought and earnest action 
Never spring from dreaming; 
The brightest moment of thy life 
Is now upon thee beaming. 

Gather the sunshine of to-day, 
'Twill brighten future hours; 
And make the journey here below 
A pathway sweet with flowers. 



lO MORNING GLORIES. 



THE TWIN MISERS. 

THE miser, Night, hath stolen all the gold 
That lay heaped up within the distant 
West, 
And to his heart the yellow wealth hath prest, 
And then o'er earth his sable robe unrolled. 
The miser. Death, hath stolen joys untold 
That I held cherished in my throbbing breast, 
And left to me but care and drear unrest 
Where had been feelings of a different mold. 

The Night and Death are misers — twins are 

they ; 
The one steals gold from out the dying day. 
The other, gold from out my throbbing heart! 
The precious gold which I had treasured up. 
As water in the ship -wrecked sailor's cup, 
And fondly prayed it never would depart. 



MOTHER. 



MOTHER. 

NO other name sounds half so sweet to me 
As this beloved old Anglo-Saxon word, 
Whose simple mention stirs some silent chord 
Within my heart, and brings me back to thee ; 
Methinks thy dear and radiant face I see 
When I, a babe, my fledgling fancy soared 
Within a little world where light was poured 
From out thy eyes so full of sanctity. 

When prattling babyhood had passed away, 
Thy tender care led my untutored steps 
Through narrow ways till manhood looms apace. 
And then my buoyant bark in unknown depths 
Sets out alone, while thou thy steps retrace 
Back unto Him who lives in endless day. 



12 MORNING GLORIES. 



UNREST. 

I STROLLED at night beside a placid stream, 
Unuttered woes harassed my tortured 

breast, — 
In vain, ah me, in vain I sought for rest — 
Helpless I wandered 'neath the cold moon's 

beam. 
The twinkling stars' inconstant, flickering gleam 
A fitting light seemed to my soul's unrest. 
"Alas, alas," my coward heart confest, 
"Conspired against me all earth's creatures 

seem ; 
Where shall I seek for rest, where look for aid?" 
An angel saw I all in light arrayed. 
And struggling forward through my troubles 

rife, 
These words were wafted as he upward trod: 
"Seek rest upon the bosom of thy God." 



AFTER DEATH. 13 



AFTER DEATH. 



^ ^ I ^ WAS in that other land across 

-■- The seas of death, they met again 
Tlieir features wore a sign of loss, 
And gleams of unextinguished pain. 

"And do we meet again?" he said, 
In this strange spirit -peopled space, — 
This long imagined land of shade — 
Still w4th thy eastern pride of face." 

"Alas, I suffered much," she said, 
" I loved, but could not speak for fear ; 
I did not dream that thou wert dead. 
Good -by! 1 cannot linger here." 

He saw her pass, and wild and rife 
Ran olden memories in his heart; — 
The pride that severed them in life. 
Still kept them in that place apart ! 



14 MORNING GLORIES. 



FROST FLOWERS. 

BEAUTIFUL flowers of the springtime, 
With your promise of hearty cheer ; 
Earliest bud of the prairie clime, 
Brightest gem of the long glad year. 

Like autumn frost o'er the prairie wide. 
Are these flowers with their petals of snow, 
Crowning the earth as she were a bride, 
Blossoming first, then beginning to grow. 

The winter's drifts are lifted away 

By fairy fingers so pearly and white. 

And the frozen rime of yesterday 

An hour has changed to a carpet of light. 

If our lives be ever so pure and true 
As this flower with its petals w^hite, 
Our souls may bloom with the chosen few 
In a glorious land of Light ! 



DOWN BY THE SEA. 



15 



DOWN BY THE SEA. 

I STOOD upon the sands ; before me rolled 
the -:3ea ; 

And at my spell -bound feet with sullen, stifled 
roar, 

The breakers mocked — and reaching toward 
me wnth vain cries, 

Spent their ne'er ceasing rage upon the wind- 
swept shore. 

The curling foam wreathed up in endless 
monotone, 

And surging waves, tossed, into spray below 
my feet. 

Swept o'er my being chilled a thousand 
memories 

Of faces, glances, voices — mem'ries bitter- 
sweet ; 

Alone I stood, all desolate and drear; and then. 

Across the rolling wastes of green, and gray, 
and blue. 

Streamed the w^hite light that led unto thy love, 

Showing the inner temple, holy, strong, and 
true. 



1 6 MORNING GLORIES. 

Then the dark waters wild surged o'er the 

shining path, 
That for one instant showed me lv>wly kneeling 

there ; 
The dreariness of moaning spree slow rolled 

between, 
And cast me from the sacred portal, faint w^ith 

care. 
What lay between ? words useless are, and idly 

vain : — 
No key -fast door had swung upon my troubled 

soul, — 
Dim as reflections cast by grasses in a pool 
Hovered the shadows vague that formed the 

clouded whole. 
Nor lock, nor bolt, nor bar, did shut me from 

thy love : 
And yet, no more, dear heart, I worthy felt 

of thee ; 
New follies filled with restlessness, new lips 

gave joy: 
And waves of newer pleasures cast their spray 

o'er me. 
What lay between ? take in thy hollowed palms 

fine sand : 
Let it sift through, nor keenly note each noise- 
less fall 



DOWN BY THE SEA. 1 7 

Until all's done; then view the high, well- 

moulded mound ;^ — 
Count so the smiles, the tears, the thrilling 

touches — all. 
The reason of tried love, affection of true faith, 
Washed by the nearer billows — sudden lost 

its art; — 
As o'er the wondrous waste of dreamy flood 

and sky 
Swept fresher visions to my w^ildly- throbbing 

heart. 
Breathing upon my lips, they left sw^eet passion - 

dew. 
That moistened my bewildered tongue to lavish 

praise : 
Soft, shining eyes put sudden light within my 

own. — 
The breathless moments seemed as summer - 

lengthened days. 
Striving to break the spell that filled with 

rapt'rous fear, 
I moved aback and wrote upon the yielding 

sands ; 
The greedy breakers ran along the damp grey 

beach. 
And snatched your name, dear love, from 'neath 

my trembling hands. 



I 8 MORNING GLORIES. 

Your 7iame\ I raised my eyes, and in the azure 

space 
That cut the moaning waters from the leaden 

sky, 
Beheld a snowy sail. =!<**** 
Your message dear of faith. 
Swift parted the drear mists within ; clouds 

rolled me by 
And vanished into naught : familiar things 

returned; 
The living, fervent love, responding to thine 

own, 
Leapt into grander flower than hope had dared 

to dream, — 
No more, no more, dear heart, all desolate and 

lone. 

Thou art unyielding granite — as the clinging 

moss 
Dare I in hope to grace thy strength : and 

thou my $ea — 
Bear me thy snowy sail, hide me thy treasured 

pearl. 
Clasp me thy border- flow'r from the encircling 4 

lea. 
O thou, my highest, sweetest life! hold me as 

dear 



DOWN BY THE SEA. 1 9 

As mortal lips hold kisses given unto Death. 
Take me unto thy being, thy blest spirit bride ; 
Make me the subtle essence of thy very breath. 
No more, no more, dear love, the dreary waters 

surge between : 
Forevermore kneel I within the holy shrine, 
Love's incense mingles there, with sacred truth's 

perfume — 
And supreme faith and love is ever thine and 

mine. 



20 MORNING GLORIES. 



THE GIVER AND THE GIFT. 

O FLOWERS, so perfect in your bloom 
Your rainbow tints, your sweet perfume, 
Your queenly grace, your modest mien, 
And all the beauties in you seen, 
In vain exert their utmost power 
To hold my fancy one short hour. 
From all your charms my thoughts do drift 
Unto the giver of the gift. 

Fair flowers ! a little while ye stood, 
Type of her budding womanhood. 
No violet beneath the skies 
Casts to the ground more modest eyes ; 
Her tints excel thine ow^n, O rose. 
For her faint color comes and goes, 
And all the hues which earth can flush 
Fade into pallor at her blush. 



SORROW. 21 



SORROW. 

THRICE welcome, Sorrow, though thy hand 
be hard, 
'Tis but the grip of friendship, and I see 
In thy stern eye's cold light the chastity 
That marks a soul from pleasure self -debarred. 
Men tell me that thy comrade -ship has marred 
The lives of countless beings, but to me 
There seems a higher destiny for thee 
Than that so often sung by mournful bard. 

For in the pain and anguish, in the smart 
Of injury, in the helpless sense of wrong 
There lies a chastening powder, wdiich doth make 
Us more of men, if there is ^n the heart 
Aught of true manliness, and w^e grow strong 
And live, and work and learn for Sorrow's sake. 



2 2 MORNING GLORIES. 



A MOMENT. 

WHEN summer days were long, a year ago, 
We paused midway upon this wooded 
height, 
And saw the mountains leap in waves of light 
Above the valley, rapt in calm below ; 
The curving river, like a silver bow. 
Lay moveless on the meadows ; evermore 
Beyond the hills w^e saw the blue sky soar, 
And lost ourselves ami"d its deepening glow — 
A year ago the happy moment fled, 
And now the summer days are long again, 
The same fair light is shining overhead 
That filled our hearts with silent wonder then, 
Thou canst not ^e the beauty of this day 
And yet I feel thou art not far away. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 



23 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

A FTER months of expectation, 
-^^- After the anguish of suspense, ' 
Cometh no realization, — 
Only an overwhelming sense 
Of utter failure and defeat 
Of the attainment of designs 
Toward which I ran with eager feet, 
To where Hope's blazing meteor shines. 

The days which promised much of bliss 
Instead thereof brought pain and grief: 
Somehow I must have sown amiss — 
The harvest did not bring a sheaf. 
Oh! Hope, in whom all mortals trust. 
What though thy promises are fair, 
Yonder lie castles in the dust, 
Which once were castles in the air. 



24 MORNING GLORIES. 



M 



APRIL. 

ARCH has gone and April's here — 
The sweetest month of all the year- 



With its perfumes, and its flowers, 
With its birds, and with its show^ers, 

With its skies so bright and bJue, 
With its joys of Spring-time too. 

'Midst sounds of thunder to our ears, 
April weeps in rainy tears, 

A welcome to this month so dear 
Thou spoiled darling of the year. 



A THOUGHT. 25 



A THOUGHT. 



THE flower springs by the fountain side, 
And blooms its little day; 
Speechless, it lives the life it has, 
And silent, fades away. 
O, I would not be like the flower 
To perish in the mould, 
And leave no record of my heart, 
No fond affection told. 
Let beauty be to others given, 
And beautiful array — 
To those who like the flower are but. 
Ambitious to be gay ; 
I only ask the pen, the tongue. 
That can the heart unfold, 
That the deep beauty of the soul 
Be not unsung, untold. 



26 MORNING GLORIES. 



THE BELLS. 

HOW gently comes stealing 
The chimes o'er the lea, 
Of bells sweetly pealing 
Their parting to me. 
'Tis no carol of gladness 
That faint music tells, 
But a lay of soft sadness 
Comes forth from the bells. 

Hush, hush thy soft grieving, 
Nor wake in my heart 
Such sad thoughts at leaving. 
Ere yet I depart. 
For wildly 'tis beating 
In time to those swells, 
And sadly repeating 
Thy sorrow, sweet bells! 



MODEST WORTH. 27 



MODEST WORTH. 



TRUE goodness, like that little flower, 
The modest daisy, hides away, 
And shrinking 'neath some hawthorn bowser 
Courts not the glory of an hour, 
Nor flaunts its beauty to the day. 

Full many a kind and gentle breast 
That racked at tales of pain and woe. 
That throbbed with anguish unsuppressed. 
In sympathy with the distressed. 
Are memories of the long ago. 

But these true hearts a fame attain 
More than all earthly plaudits worth ; 
And tho' no marble shaft attest 
Their merit, is their memory blest 
Who makes a paradise of earth. 



28 MORNING GLORIES. 



ON BREAKING A CLAY PIPE. 

ALAS ! thy stem is rent in twain, 
And I shall ne'er from thee again 
Draw solace. — What the joy or pain ? 
Poor little thing! 

Thou surely served'st thy purpose well 

Ere this sad happening befell 

Thee. Art thou more than worthless — tell ? 

Thou little thing I 

A new one fresher is, I claim : 

Thou hadst grown old (though not to blame) 

But still, a new one's not the same, 

And cannot bring 

The joys that, old companions share, 

The pleasures long -formed friendships bear; 

How sadly memories must fare, 

That round thee cling! 

Thy short existence seemeth not 
Unlike unhappy mankind's lot: 
Now honored, cherished — then forgot 
By Time's swift wing! 



MY ROSE. 29 



MY ROSE. 

SHE gave me a rose that summer day — 
A rose that was touched by the sun's last 
ray, 
A rose that was kissed by the butter- flies — 
A rose that had smiled at summer skies. 

I tenderly laid my rose away — 

A faded rose it is to-day. 

But the dearest gift I ever knew, 

Was that sweet, wild rose just wet with dew. 

And she who gave it lies cold and still 

In her little grave beside the hill, 

Where the thrush pours out his evening song. 

And the shadows flit the whole day long. 

And by her grows a wild rose-bush, 
And here I come in the evening's hush 
When everything is dark and still, 
I come to the little grave beside the hill. 



30 MORNING GLORIES. 



AT SEVENTEEN. 

I WOULD not wish thee endless joy; 
Life's dream would pass too quickly o'er, 
For happiness needs some alloy 
Of grief, that we may prize it more. 

I would not wish thee length of life. 
As age advances love grows cold. 
Well might we scorn this world of strife, 
Should friends neglect us when w^e're old. 

I cannot wish thee many friends — 
'Twere asking misery for thee ; 
That shallowness which mankind blends 
With friendship, brings us agony. 

As now% I'd have thee queen of hearts, 
And harmless, at thy very feet, 
I'd ask that Hate's envenomed darts 
May fall, their journey incomplete. 

More would I wish, but w^hen alone, 
With thee I'll share my secret, dear. 
This wish so strong within me grown 
Must never reach another's ear. 



SIMILITUDE, 31 



-* SIMILITUDE. 

THE noonday sun, in splendor bright, 
Breaks forth o'er vale and mountain 
height, 
Its majesty supreme ; 
But ere the gladsome day is spent, 
Its light grows dim, and shadows blend 
And cloud its glorious sheen. 

A gallant steamer bears her way 
O'er waters calm, as child at play, 
And sights the nearing shore ; 
But lo! the storm's tumultuous rage 
In wrath descends, and mars a page, 
So bright an hour before. 

A life, perchance, as pure as snow. 

Whose thoughts are like clear streams, that flow 

In melody along; 

May ah! too soon, with changing tide. 

In darkened depths of sorrow glide, 

A dirge may be its song! 



32 MORNING GLORIES. 



SPRING-TIME. 



OH! the gladsome days of Spring-time, 
So jocund and so bright, 
That dance along our pathway 
Like beams of silver light ; 
That chase the tones of sadness 
Like wintry winds away. 
And shed in joy and gladness 
Their sunlight on our way. 

Oh! the merry days of April, 

With its sunlight and its showers 

That burst upon our senses 

Like springing grass and flowers ; 

Now dark'ning as the breaking clouds, 

In copious showers descend; 

Now bright'ning, as the sparkling drops 

With beams of sunlight blend! 



GOD S TEMPLE. 



33 



GOD'S TEMPLE. 

T LIVE in a beautiful temple — 
-■- A temple ancient and grand, 
Time-worn with the foot -steps of ages; 
A temple not made with hands. 

Enduring and firm its foundation, 
Stately and massive its wall ; 
And the smile of the master-builder 
Sheds halo over it all. 

As I gaze entranced on its beauties — 
Its vault of celestial blue. 
And its carpet of living verdure. 
Sprinkled with heaven-sent dew — 

The voice of the master — the builder — 
Comes on the song -laden air, 
And woos, with a gentle entreaty. 
The soul from its doubt and care. 



34 MORNING GLORIES. 



A SECRET. 



SUNSHINE hovers everywhere, 
Brightens darkest spots on earth : 
Beauty revels, free from care, 
And joins Nature in her mirth. 

But the fiercest rays of sunshine, 
Scorching tho' its fiery dart. 
Cannot pierce that cloud o'ershading, 
Can wring naught from my sad heart. 

Dare I tell my sorrows story. 
Dare divulge my cause for grief? 
No, that secret must remain there — 
Undeciphered be that leaf. 

None could cheer me with their pity — 
Sympathy can't heal that wound. 
Let the secret die when I die. 
In my heart forever bound. 



CONTENTMENT. 



35 



COxNTENTMENT. 

CONTENTMENT is a jewel rare, 
Wealth can not place its equal there ; 
It will outlast the costly gem 
Set in a royal diadem. 
Time can not dim its lustre fair. 
Its equal is not anywhere ; 
No stain is seen upon its face, 
And ages cannot it erase. 
Within the heart this jewel's found. 
Not like the ruby in the ground ; 
He knows its worth who can it claim 
And call it by its precious name. 
Come, let us seek this precious gem. 
All other jewels we disclaim ; 
Contentment shall our lot attend 
Now, henceforth and unto the end. 



36 MORNING GLORIES. 



FAME, WEALTH, AND HONOR. 

THREE youths, just starting out in life,^ 
Together came to where three ways 
Branched off; each chose one and went on 
Alone, and travelled many days. 

Fame led the first — o'er rugged paths, 
Through forests dark, up endless slopes ; 
Until, at length, the wretched slave 
Won fame but lost all nobler hopes. 

The second, dazed by riches' glare, 
Rushed on, nor heeded human pain ; 
Successful in his search for wealth, 
A miser, lived his life in vain. 

The third took Honor for his guide. 
And lived to win an honest name ; 
Beloved by all and much esteemed, 
He found at last both wealth and fame. 



THE NEW YEAR. 37 



THE NEW YEAR. 



^ I ^HE new-born day peeps o'er the land 
J- And lifts the veiling cloak of night; 
The shadow^s flee from out the dells, — 
Exortive rays instate the light. 

O joy — great joy! Ring out the bells — 

Proclaim the new^s afar and near, 

Unite sweet voices in a song. 

And welcome in the glad New Year. 

Let vice and folly all remain 
To languish with the crumbling past; 
Let coming months and coming years 
Build citadels that smile and last. 

Then shout aloud a newer song. 
And breathe a statelier, stronger verse : 
O soul of Prayer, reclaim our lives! 
In mercy's fount bow low, immerse. 



38 MORNING GLORIES. 



THE BETROTHAL. 

OVER the trembling tree tops high, 
Phaikian barks are floating by, 
Down through the maze of flutt'ring leaves 
The light of the June sun softly sifts 
And a woof of wondrous beauty weaves ; 
And there in the glowing eastern sky, 
The lonely day- moon dimly drifts. 

Ah ! could the hour but last fore'er. 

For down in the dell, a happy pair 

Have made their vows 'mid the forest bowers; 

Laura the light of the vale, and I, 

And love with his joyous magic, showers 

Over the face of Nature fair 

A lustre, that brightens earth and sky. 



MAY. 



39 



MAY. 

WAFTING light her balmy breezes, 
Tinging, with a verdant sheen, 
Ilill, and dale, and mead, and valley. 
Comes she in her robe of green ; 
While the joyous feathery songsters, 
'Midst their ardent hymns of praise. 
In the air and in the sunshine 
Warble forth their martin lays. 

Freed from winter's cruel fetters. 
From the frosted ice and snow. 
Bubbling, murmering, dashing, tumbling, 
Brooks resume their wonted flow : 
Buzzing, piping, twittering, chirping. 
Bushes, trees, and flowers among, 
Nature thus revives her beauty. 
Thus are Spring- tide's glories sung. 



4© MORNING GLORIES. 



DECEMBER TWILIGHT. 

IN broken cadence soft and low 
The west winds through bare branches blow 
That toss against the dull gray skies, 
And mingle with the sunset dyes. 

The pines along the mountain wall — 
Ice -bearded giants dark and tall — 
Throw lengthened shades across the snow ; 
That mantles all the vale below. 

Across the calm lake's crystal roof 
The north wind blows in keen reproof 
To winter sport, and warmth and mirth, 
That glow beside my blazing hearth. 



LIFE. 



41 



LIFE. 

OLIFE is like a sweet wild rose, 
That blooms in wondrous splendor. 
It's little face with beauty glows, 
It's heart so fond and tender. 

But pluck it from the parent stem. 
And now its leaves are scattered. 
The flower that sparkled like a gem, 
Is dead ; so life is shattered. 

Our lives unto the vain world cling. 
Like leaves on sweet wild roses. 
But 'tis, alas, a weak, frail thing, 
Where little strength reposes. 

One little breeze the stem to shake, 
The flower no more is blooming. 
So death w411 come our forms to take. 
While we are pride assuming. 



42 MORNING GLORIES. 



HOPE. 

A GLIM 'RING light doth lend its ray, 
To guide the heart throughout the day, 
To strengthen every act, and will, 
And cause unceasing cares be still ; 
A blessed joy, a comfort's power. 
Bequeath to all as Nature's dower. 
To souls oppressed with sorrow's care. 
To hearts that know naught but despair, 
Whose light, grown dim, through chang'less 

years, 
Of toil and labor, silent fears, 
Finds no contentment, joy nor rest, 
That know^s no law; O, passion blest; 
'Tis such that needs its presence dear. 
To feel its inspiration near. 
And uf its gracious store partake, 
F'rom thence, all thought, and care forsake ; 
And walk anew, with courage strong, 
The path of life, amid the throng 
Who now" with joyous hearts do tread, 
By Hope refreshed — by Hope are led. 



THE MAIDEN S SOLILOQUY. 43 



THE MAIDEN'S SOLILOQUY. 

I MUST confess, though I blush the while, 
There is something sweet in thy winning 
smile ; 
Thy manly voice, to my listening ear, 
Like the flow of music, is soft and clear. 
And the loving light of those eyes of thine, 
Grows far more fond as they fall on mine ; 
While thy coming step, and I know it well, 
For me hath a charm that I may not tell. 
No longer I'll say that my heart is free. 
Since it beats so fast when I think of thee ; 
And I'm gloomy and sad when thou art away. 
As the sunless hours of an autumn day. 
Yes, I own it, for hidden no longer can be. 
That dear is the love of my lover to me. 



44 MORNING GLORIES. 



REMEMBRANCE. 

DEAD — dead! Now only soulless clay! 
Though many be the years, or few, 
Thou wilt not care — 
Thou lying there, 

Wrapped in thy dreamless slumber through 
The night of an eternal day. 

"Remember me, when far from thee!" 

Words written in light mood ; indeed, 

In that old time 

The common rhyme 

Awoke our laughter. Now I read, 

Through tears fast falling, "Far from thee! 

I shall remember thee, my friend ; 

Remember, grieving, till that day 

When God shall see 

My need of thee, 

And lead me through the darkened way 

To where thou waitest, in the end. 



PASSING AWAY. 45 



PASSING AWAY. 

SWIFTLY the years pass on the fleet wings 
of Time, 
Quickly they glide into the ocean that's past; 
And faster and faster they fly as we live, 
Until death comes and closes the short scene 
at last. 

Onl}' a few fleeting years now left us to live. 
Shall we waste the glad time in frivolous strife ? 
Shall we trample with scorn 'neath our un- 

w^earied feet 
The beautiful blossoms of the tree of life? 

There are only a few years yet left us to roam. 
On Time's mortal shore e'er our journey must 

cease ; 
O, fill up your measure with Loves rarest wine, 
And make life and death a sweet union of 

peace! 



46 MORNING GLORIES. 



AN OCTOBER EVE. 

A SHADOW came over the eastern hill, 
Where the phalanx of trees stood stern 
and still 
And thrilling and shuddering through the air, 
Which a moment before was calm and fair. 

A weird wind sprang from the distant marsh, 
And its breath was chilling, its murmur harsh; 
And as over valley and field it sped. 
Each flower at its coming drooped its head. 

And a Spirit seemed to rise from the land. 
And wearily, sadly its wings expand ; 
Faltering, trembling it floated by, 
With a wail of anguish, a wistful sigh ; 

And fading far over the mountain crest, 
Was lost in the flame of the crimson west 
Where the sun sank down in a flame of fire. 
The dying Summer's funeral pyre! 



HYACINTHS. 47 



HYACINTHS. 

PALE hyacinths, their fragrant bloom 
Calls up a dainty vision, 
And I inhale their sweet perfume, 
Half lost in dreams elysian. 

The sweetest flower of timid Spring, 
I hail thee dainty comer, 
And all the memories thou dost bring 
Of bygone hours of summer. 

Enwrapt in thought, thy odor sweet, 
Comes o'er my senses stealing; 
And present, past and future meet, 
A strange, commingled feeling. 

The thoughts of other, early years, 
The future's restless longing. 
The present's struggling hopes and fears. 
Upon my soul are thronging. 

To me again there comes a time. 
With tender memories laden, 
My half forgotten, early prime, 
Life's fondly cherished Aidian. 



48 MORNING GLORIES. 

Forgot the man; a bright- eyed boy, 
"The future proudly greating," 
Unmindful of the present joy, 
Its sorrows lightly meeting. 

I stand : the flowers in my hand, 
Whose fragrance wrought this dreaming, 
The moments spent in Memory's land, 
And all their pleasant seeming. 



FORGOTTEN. 49 



FORGOTTEN. 

LEARNING to picture thee in all my dreams, 
To cherish thy dear words all else above : 
To walk, and act, and live, to win thy praise. 
To turn my heart to thee with thoughts of love: 
To lean upon thy grandeur and thy strength. 
To hold my sweetest self in wait for thee, — 
Learning all this within my heart of hearts. 
Knowing, I feel thou hast forgotten me. 

The chilling silence brooding twixt our lips. 
The boundless space far reaching 'fore our eyes, 
The stillness hanging like a pall between, 
The lofty altar where my soul -gift lies. 
Combine to bid me patient be, and strong: 
To court the air of pride, the tone of glee ; 
To tender smile, and light mine eyes, to hide 
The bitter truth — thou hast forsrotten me. 



MORNING GLORIES. 



TO A FLOWER. 

LOOK as I may, on every spot 
Of thee, I find not one faint blot, 
For brilliantly thy portion there 
Bedecks the lawn and scents the air. 
Sweet scented thing! by zephyrs known, 
By rude or gentle breezes blown, 
You dip your head now to the breeze, 
Return again, and swing at ease, 
And as each tiny dew-drop wings 
Its flight to thee, new life it brings; 
At eventide you look so sweet. 
Yet lay so passive at my feet ! 
I will not pluck thee from thy place, 
(Although my loves' fair form you'd grace,) 
But leave you there to bloom and die, 
And tend thee with a lover's eye. 



LIFE S LESSON. 51 



LIFE'S LESSON. 



TIME steals away on noiseless wing. 
The coming hours new duties bring ; 
And he who lives the truest life, 
Battling alone, 'mid every strife. 
Must know and feel its bitter sting. 

The peasant, beggar, priest and king. 
To life's brief day all fondly cling, 
Whilst from the world with sorrow rife. 
Time steals away. 

Amid life's tumult, some can sing, 
Tho' tolling bells a death knell ring. 
But others feel the cutting knife 
Which strips them of the sweets of life, 
And adds a grief to everything 
Time steals away. 



52 



MORNING GLORIES. 



A FRAGMENT. 

I WOULD that flowers half expressed 
The hidden life in every part ; 
That words the feelings best confessed 
That dwell within the inmost heart ; 

For if 'twere given the heart to tell 
The fullest measure of its love, 
The songs from mine to-night would swell 
The anthems of the heavens above. 

But words are vain ! / only know 
The full sweet love enfolded here ; 
Though countless silent tears may flow, 
A world of words is not one tear. 



GUSTAVE DORE. 53 



GUSTAVE DORE. 



WHAT master genius guided thy strong 
hand 
To snatch the fire from Dante's search in Hell, 
To heart interpret all of Poe's strange spell, 
Until thy praises ring in every land. 
Thou only, of all those whose pictures stand 
Memorials of the heaven -snatched flame, can 

tell 
The tale in art which from the poet's fell, 
When they attuned their lyres to music grand. 

Great master of the fine -recorded thrills 
That swayed famed Dante's soul in posey, 
And made the Raven's tale a symphony, 
The world before thy throne its incense spills. 
Beyond the gloom of ''Night's Plutonian shore," 
Thy journey lies in light forevermore. 



54 MORNING GLORIES. 



EVENTIDE. 



A GOLDEN glow is in the west, 
A purple haze the mountains hide. 
This is the time I love the best — 
The calm and holy eventide. 

When we can gaze on Heavenly views, 
The sunsets — nearer Heaven seem, 
Until all earthly thoughts we lose 
And feel in a celestial dream. 

How trifling is the petty strife — 
(Above which now we feel to rise) 
The toil, disasters of this life. 
When yonder seemeth Paradise. 



AT TWILIGHT. 55 



AT TWILIGHT. 



WHEN sinks the sun behind the western 
hills, 
And sable night o'er earth her mantle throws, 
My heart forgets its burdens and its woes. 
And soothing peace once more my bosom fills. 
The gentle twilight banishes all ills, 
And once again fond hope my spirit knows ; 
While through my thoughts a new strong 

impulse flows. 
And courage in my fainting heart instills. 

Though oft despondent at the close of day 
And gain new strength when twnlight's shadows 

fall; . 
The hateful phantoms that my heart appal 
Are fain to grant a respite to their prey, 
And for a time release me from their thrall ; 
While freedom doth at last my toils repay. 



56 MORNING GLORIES. 



MAI A. 



JUNE with dimpled smiles is dancing 
To the altar stair; — 
Swings the fragrant wildwood censer 
In the balmy air. 

And she laughs at May, the Weeper, 
As the sunshine laughs 
When some merry, light -winged swallow 
Of the water quaffs. 

Gliding to the past of ages, 

May will flee fore'er. 

But her spirit — flowers half -blossomed 

Lingers, like a prayer. 



FROM HEINE. 57 



FROM HEINE. 

I. 

OH, thou art like a flower, 
So sweet, and pure, and fair ; 
I look at thee, and sadness 
Steals o'er me unaware. 

Upon thy head it seemeth 
My hands must rest in prayer; 
I pray that God may keep thee 
So sweet, and pure, and fair. 
II. 
I murmur not and though my heart should 

break. 
Eternally lost love ! no plaint I make. 
For though thou beamest with thy diamonds 

bright. 
There falls no ray into thy soul's dark night. 

I knew it long ago. To me it seems 

I saw the night within thy heart in dreams, 

And saw the snake which gnaws upon thy 

heart, 
I saw, my love, how miserable thou art. 



MORNING GLORIES. 



THE TWO GUESTS. 

INTO the silent chamber of the soul, 
Sometime there comes at twilight's changing 

hour, 
Gray -robed Despond, whose melancholy power 
Brings all our thoughts beneath her sad control. 
In mournful chimes our saddened heart- bells 

toll 
For joy's young death, for true love's overthrow; 
For hearts that ache beneath their blinding woe ; 
For hands that strive yet fail to reach the goal. 

On wings of love fair Hope again returns, 
And dark Despond flees from her fair young 

face ; 
With light and joy the silent chamber burns, 
And all its depths are filled with fairest grace ; 
Had not the first grave pilgrim paused to rest, 
We might not love so well the later guest. 



LINES. 59 



LINES. 



AS grows the mind, so do the actions grow; 
A polished mind a polished life may live : 
Good deeds will ne'er from evil sources flow. 
It is our conscience that alone must give 
Earth's life an undertow. 



6o MORNING GLORIES. 



B 



LUNA CAPTA. 

EHOLD the fair- robed Cynthia, Queen of 

Nio-ht, 

In glad surprise her full-robed beauty viewing, 
Upon the lake's broad bosom lull'd to sleep! 
Inflamed, enraptured, breathless, like the youth 
Who bent of old above the fabled fount, 
She bends enamoured o'er her image pale. 
Ah, how those mirrored lips she fain would 

press! 
How gladly leave her lofty throne of light 
To clasp that radiant object in her arms! 
The silvery love -light floods her dreamy eyes; 
Night after night she looks and loves and longs, 
Night after night to stoop she strives in vain. 
Until at last Hope dies within her breast 
And, like Narcissus fair, she pines aw^ay! 



MUSIC. 6 1 



MUSIC. 

THROUGH Art and Nature flows a melody 
Of highest and divinest harmony. 
In all the world, in all the universe, 
There swells and dies on modulated chords 
A music grand, consistent, yet diverse, 
A music full of meaning, without words; 
And to the soul attuned to hear the wondrous 

song 
These voices bring a v/inged, intense desire 
To put away the world and drift along 
The dreamy life the monotones inspire. 
The grandly silent music of the spheres, 
Swinging in ponderous numbers years on years 
Through all the eras of eternal time, 
Entrances the spirit with a rhyme sublime. 
And lower and yet mighty in the scale 
Of Nature's limitless and complex tone, 
The thunder rolls in deep and sombre peal 
And on wild shores the hoary Oceans moan. 
In lighter measure and in contrast sweet 
To these profound and melancholy strains, 
The forest songsters trill an air replete 



62 MORNING GLORIES. 

With happy melody the swells and wanes 
On chords which make the vaster hymn com- 
plete. 
In accents low, and faint, and far remote 
From symphony, the insect's tiny note, 
That stabs the stillness of a summer day, 
Completes the choir and fills out Nature's lay. 
And from these wild, uncultivated sounds 
The inspiration of immortal thought 
Has caught the finer beauty that abounds 
And into melody weird wildness wrought. 
The resonant,' the sweet, the tiny trill. 
Are made to move by the artistic skill 
Of hearts o'erflowing with the song divine, 
In measures that enwrap and weave and twine 
About the soul a pure celestial charm. 



PEACE. 63 



PEACE. 



A FRAGRANT flower of which each cher- 
ished joy is born, 
That makes this life a treasure well of worth ; 
A precious gem whose lustre stands alone ■ — 
Unrivaled for its charms upon the earth. 
We seek it, grasp it, and yet in angry mood 
We suffer it to vanish from our sight; 
Thus too soon this harbinger of good 
Before the storm of anger takes its flight. 
Where'er it reigns the sun of joy shall shine, 
And ye who love to seek this precious gem, 
Will happy be; to thee the name devine. 
Will prove in life an earthly diadem. 



64 MORNINCx GLORIES. 



DEATH. 

TWO roses wild, on a single stem, 
Opened their leaves to the morning sun. 
Wandered a youth and maid that way — 
Plucking them both, he gave her one. 

"Emblems of love," he murmured low, 
" 'Tis certain death to part them here ; 
So take this modest bud to show 
How naught but death our love can sere." 

But parting comes, alas, too soon — 
Death claims the lover for his prey ; 
The maid soon follows ■ — in the tomb 
Thus joined in death the blossoms lay. 



NAUGHT BUT PRAYER. 65 



NAUGHT BUT PRAYER. 

ONCE dreamt I that I was a fairy, 
And dwelt in the brightest of bowers ; 
But dreams like to these are contrary 
To life, and its dull, dragging hours. 

Oh! why was man made but to labor. 
To struggle with strife and with care ; 
To meet the sharp edge of grief's sabre, 
And have naught to answer but prayer? 



66 MORNING GLORIES. 



A FRAGMENT. 

LIFE'S music was not tuned to sadness, 
And bird -like notes yet mingle there; 
The tones that wake the heart to gladness 
Fill all the sweet, responsive air. 
Then why should fitful memory linger 
O'er chords that only breathe of pain, 
Awaking with capricious finger 
Such weird, wild notes in every strain ? 

In moments when the heart would borrow 
A fleeting joy from vanished hours, 
The hand may press some thorn of sorrow 
That hides beneath what once were flowers; 
Yet Earth has cheer in fullest measure. 
And Heaven has bliss in sacred store. 
The heart, too oft, forgets the treasure 
That waits on life, till life is o'er. 



AFTERMATH. 67 



AFTERMATH. 

I MET her strolling on the lawn, 
A damsel fair to see ; 
A pretty rose without a thorn 
This maiden seemed to me. 

And love — which oft made man a slave 
Within her eyes she bore ; 
Yet, as I passed her by, I gave 
A glance, and nothing more. 

Perchance were this the first fair face 
That caught the poet's eye. 
His heart had hearkened to the grace, 
Nor thus had passed her by. 



68 MORNING GLORIES. 



WIND VOICES. 

OWAND'RING Wind, thy voice is never 
still. 
I hear it by the dashing mountain rill 
Its whisp'ring mingled with the liquid sound 
Of rushing waters, where they leap and bound 
O'er craggy rock or old moss -covered log, 
Or, sweeping down some dark and solemn wood, 
Where bearded pines for centuries have stood, 
It mourns and wails in sympathetic tone, 
As for those friends that lived, but now are 

gone ; 
And moaning low, it passes sadly on. 
I heard it next, with mighty dash and roar, 
Of waters driving on a rock -bound shore; 
Where, howling 'mongst the ledges in wild glee, 
Together with the thund'ring of the sea, 
It sounds in wild, though sweetest harmony, 

O wand'ring Wind, still thou dost come and go, 
Wailing in minor key, low notes of woe. 
Or shrieking shrill, wierd songs 'mong the trees, 
Or whispering love in every gentle breeze, 
Thou mov'st the heart in answering sympathy. 



A MEDLEY. 69 



A MEDLEY. 

STRENGTH comes with but constant tension. 
Blossoms wither without rain, 
Mountains spring from great upheavals, 
Spirits weaken without pain. 
Constant sunshine saps the life-blood, 
Drinks the stream and fountain dry. 
Constant pleasure makes existence 
But a useless, hopeless lie. 
Bitter winter wdnds may wither, 
Summer tempests may destroy — 
But anew life's crimson current 
Speeds in thrills of tingled joy. 
Better labor full of anguish. 
Better struggle full of pain, 
Than an empty, aimless floating, 
Sport of tide, and wind, and rain. 
Rest is sweetest after labor, 
Joy is dearest after grief. 
After desolating winter 
Fairer grows the vernal leaf. 
After rain the sunbeams glisten 
On the dew^-dipp'd leaf and flower. 



yo MORNING GLORIES. 

After night's cold shadows vanish 
Fairer glows the morning hour. 
Wisdom is for those who study, 
Fortune but for him who delves. 
Would we reach our grand ideal, 
"God helps those who help themselves." 



A PICTURE. 71 



A PICTURE. 



^'npiS a face of wonderful beauty, 

-*- That looks from its walnut frame, 
The eyes are deeply, tenderly dark — ' 
Their beauty I could not name. 

The hair is short, but of finest silk. 
And brown as a chestnut burr; 
And it curls in rings around the head, 
Far softer than softest fur. 

The lips, just parted, reveal behind 
Two rows of whitest teeth ; 
Oh ! who can look in that pictured face. 
And doubt of the heart beneath? 

A)^e! the face of a trusted, long -tried friend! 
A friend, not "a friend for a day," 
Is the pictured face before me — 
The face of our old dog. Tray. 



72 MORNING GLORIES. 



SORROW. 

THE stars may look love from the heavens, 
And shed their soft light o'er the sea ; 
The mid- summer moonlight be flowing, 
I care not — 'tis nothing to me. 
I care not if breezes be sighing, 
Or gentle waves washing the shore; 
The rustle of roses — their fragrance 
Can thrill me with pleasure no more. 



My sad soul lies buried within me, 
Deep, deep under burdens of woe ; 
The world may be brighter, and Heaven 
Seem nearer to others, but oh ! 
This black, heavy curtain of sorrow, 
Veils all the glad visions of light. 
And Heaven and Hope have forsaken. 
My spirit in darkness and night. 



A FRAGMENT. 73 



A FRAGMENT. 

WHATEVER marks a moment in the round 
On which the growth of our Jife de- 
pends, — 
Whatever stirs or sways us with a sound, 
A thought, a look, a hope, a dream, a mound — 
Its influence never ends. 

Our souls are starred and marred with world - 

less things 
That help to shape some other destinies. 
As they, in turn shape ours. Though still 

there clings 
Through every change, the primal offerings 
Of Nature shaping these. 



74 



MORNING GLORIES. 



TO AUTUMN. 

WHAT breath of Spring's most vernant 
wealth can give 
The preciousness thy censers yield to air? 
What flower of Summer's brightest bloom can 

wear 
The gleams that in thy deep -gold tresses live? 
The bounteous Year, from forest, field and 

bower, 
Pours round thy feet the riches of her dower. 

Thou art the priestess of the grateful Year, — 
Brave in thy silver- braided garmenting. 
But all too soon shall come a Vandal king 
With power and impious taunt : and in thy fear 
Shalt thou the Temple yield to him at last. 
And fling thy vesture to the Winter's blast. 



A 



A FRAGMENT. 75 



A FRAGMENT. 

NEMONE and crocus in the shade, 

Water down dripping from the moss 



A pebbly bed, dividing glade from glade. 
Bordered by rushes and great stalks of flag ; 
A robin trilling out his rapturous lay ; 
Busy nest- builders 'mong the cottage eaves; 
A glimpse of white sails on an azure bay; 
A zephyr's breath amid the trembling leaves. 
White, daisied carpets, soft beneath the feet ; 
Beds of blue violets, spread in the vale ; 
Low mystic voices, wonderfully sweet. 
Calling from cliff and glen, from wood and 

dale ; 
So from the sepulchre, comes forth the year. 
Rising in radiance, smiling at the tomb, 
Defying death, laughing at craven fear ; 
For sweet was the long rest through winter's 

gloom. 



76 MORNING GLORIES. 



THE VALLEY BIRD. 

NOW merrily my bonny bark, 
Swiftly o'er the waters glide, 
Plying the wave with steady mark, 
From early dawn till eventide. 
How oft' I've watched thy shining oar, 
In measured silence cut the wave; 
How oft' I've seen from shore to shore, 
Thy sides the muddy waters lave. 
Full many a bounding heart hast thou 
Kept time to with unconscious dash, 
As onward rushed thy little prow 
Through the ripples foamy plash. 
'Tis well, my bonny bark, that thou 
All mystery canst not divine : 
'Tis well thou hast not power to know 
The thoughts for which thou'rt made the shrine, 
Cheerful as the early lark. 
When first his matin song is given. 
Bounds o'er the tide my bonny bark 
From morning grey till dusky even. 



PANSIES. 77 



PANSIES. 



THE room was small, and dark, and bare, 
With nought to tell of day — 
Excepting through one window there 
Struggled a single ray. 

Across the narrow^, empty space 
Up to the wall it flung 
Its light upon a pictured face, 
Which o'er the mantel hung. 

Sad eyes of velvet pansied hue 
Looked out from canvas there ; 
So soft and purplish (not dark blue) 
Touched with a look of care. 

Half smiling mouth and well curved cheek, 

While o'er her forehead w4iite, 

As droops the vail o'er nun so meek, 

So drooped her hair of night. 

Below the gilded frame there stands 
A vase with Shelley's flower — 
An offering made by loving hands 
Which tells that picture's power. 



78 MORNING GLORIES. 

A mother leaves all pomp and pride, 
And to that picture steals ; 
The prayers she utters at its side 
A mother's love reveals. 

As o'er the path of life we go 
We always cherish something — 
A sunbeam in our way of woe 
To keep our hearts from fainting. 

A bunch of pansies in that vase — 
Flowers of "eternal memory" — 
Will always stand beneath that face. 
Yea, everlastingly. 



UNDERCURRENTS. 79 



UNDERCURRENTS. 

THE river flows to the sea; 
The lake alone in distance lies, 
Unconscious of the myriad streams 
That are, themselves, affinities. 

Below our feet for fathoms down 
Are channels where the waters flow 
Unseen, connecting in their course 
The lake and rivulet below. 

Thus is it with our daily lives ; 
Low 'neath the surface of the soul 
Are channels which connect our fates. 
And o'er us wield supreme control. 



MORNINCx GLORIES. 



DEAD. 

SLEEP, patient lady! In thy chamber sleep; 
Blue sky and silence wall thee round about ; 
Nothing shall rouse thy slumber, long and deep, 
While we with breaking hearts must wait without 
Under a starless night of cl(3uds and doubt. 

O, stubborn earth! fold tt) thy jealous breast 
That purest soul ! O, viewless heavenly ones, 
That walk in places where the buried rest, 
Invisible by light of earthly suns, 
Who go your round till Time his journey runs. 

Care for my darling — hold her spirit hands, 
Smooth her pale forehead, ask her what she 

would ; 
Trust me, she is not fretful in demands; 
She is a type of patient womanhood; — 
Care for my love — she vrill be very good. 



THE FALLS. 8 1 



THE FALLS. 

O'ER the beaten rocks a gushing 
Tearing, splashing, frisking, rushing, 
Go the waters of the falls. 

In the Summer sunlight glist'ning, 
Pleasurable 'tis a listning. 
To the waters of the falls. 

Gnawing in the rocks abounding, 
In the distance hear them sounding, 
Roaring waters of the falls. 

Dancing, prancing, e'er in motion, 
Flowing onward to the ocean. 
Endless waters of the falls. 

What a tale you could unravel, 
And what occult paths you travel, 
Mystic waters of the falls. 

Men will die and temples crumble. 
But forever you will rumble, 
Ceaseless waters of the falls. 



82 MORNING GLORIES. 



A REVERIE. , 

"ly /TY pipe is peace to me 
-i-^-^ On languid summer eves, 
When zephyrs steal with lazy flight, 
Nor scarcely hymn the *brooding night, 
Nor wake the sleeping leaves: 
Some sullen vagary 
Encoils me in her pensive chain. 
And knits me with the past again, — 
I puff my clay, — the chain is broke, 
And broken, passes off in smoke! 

My pipe is peace to me 

On wintry nights and chill. 

As speeds the flaky tempest past; 

When all without is soughing blast, 

And all within is still : 

In poet's company 

I tread my several ways along 

The verdant paths of vernal song, — 

I puff my clay, — the song is done. 

And puffing breathe a benison. 



HYACINTHS. 83 



HYACINTHS. 

DAINTY bells from the green spire swinging, 
None but the fairies hear your ringing. 
Up their ladders of moonbeam climbing, 
Have they set all your pink bells chiming? 
Then when ended their vespers' pealing, 
Into your waxen chambers stealing, 
Did they drowse till the young moon beaming 
Called the elves from their blissful dreaming? 
They have flowm, but they left behind them 
All the dreams that in slumber bind them. 
And the dreams, into fragrance growing. 
Fill your goblets to overflowing. 
And the glow of the fairy fingers 
Still on your waxen petals lingers. 
And the dawn, through the east returning, 
Sees his fires in your bosom burning. 



MORNING GLORIES. 



INNOCENCE. 

IN the shade, from life's tempest secure, 
Far away from the heartless and cold, 
Doth Innocence, perfect and pure, 
Reillumine the era of gold. 

There a feeling sweet, buoyant and bright, 
From the charm of simplicity flows, 
For the flowers of delight 
Upon Nature's own bosom repose. 



'mid the roses. 85 



'MID THE ROSES. 

WHERE roses sweet were growing, 
I saw her standing there, 
The breezes softly blowing 
Her wealth of golden hair. 
O, never rose so fair was seen, 
As she, my love, my life, my Queen. 
Her cheeks like roses glowing. 
Were still more fair to me ; 
My love to her was flowing, 
Like billows on the sea. 

Her eyes were gently gazing 
To Heaven's blue above. 
Her loveliness amazing — 
The eyes tha,t gazed with love. 
Upon her bosom nestled there, 
A bunch of roses, sweet and fair. 
And Cupid still was knitting 
Her heart -strinofs into mine, 
And it seemed very fitting 
Together they should twine. 

The ends came near and nearer, 
'Till woe was all forgot, 



86 MORNING GLORIES. 

And life grew dear and dearer, 

As Cupid tied the knot 

Which bound our hearts together in 

The bond of love's own sacred kin. 

'Mid roses sweet I found her, 

Where joy alone was seen, 

With roses sweet I crowned her — 

My throne had found its Queen. 






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